Beaten And Bloody
by Sadistic Writer of FanFiction
Summary: Steve's neglectful parents show up at home one night, and Steve decides to stand up to them. It results in the beating of a lifetime. He's bleeding, he's injured, and he's unconscious. Bottom line: Steve needs help.


After everything, the Upside Down, the tunnels, getting the everloving shit beaten out of him by Billy Hargrove, the torture from the Russians, Steve Harrington was drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He didn't know how to deal with all the bullshit that life had thrown at him. For once, he wished that he could just sit around the house, doing absolutely nothing, with the company of his family—his biological family. He did, however, know that what he wants, is nothing more than a pipedream. Even if his parents miraculously came home for once, the most interaction they'd have with Steve would be either cussing him out over how much of a screwup he is, or beating the shit out of him for the same reason. So, he filled his friend circle with _children_, which ended up filling up all his useless free time. He got a new job with Robin, who kept him sane, and gave him someone to talk about teen stuff—girls mostly.

It was the end of July, when Steve's parents decided to grace him with their presence. Steve walked into his house, after an eight hour shift at Family Video, his workplace. When he entered the kitchen to fix himself dinner and was shocked to find his parents seated at the table, both nursing a tall glass of red wine.

"Steve." His mom addressed him, curtly.

"What… what are you guys doing here?" He blurted out, slapping a hand over his mouth as he realized what a royal fuckup that was.

"Do _not_ speak to your mother that way, Steven." Mr. Harrington chastised.

"Do _not_ call me Steven." Steve retorted, imitating his father's tone.

"Steven Harrington Junior!" Mrs. Harrington gasped. "Show your father some respect. We did not raise you to be so rude."

"Really? Because I don't remember you raising me at all!" Steve shouted.

His father slowly pushed himself out of his seat, turning a lethal glare on his son. Steve shrank back, gulping nervously. He knew he was going to get the beating of his life. He couldn't for the life of him pinpoint the reason _why_ he decided to talk back to his parents. Perhaps it was the soul consuming exhaustion, or the years of pent up frustration and disappointment. Either way, he was about to get his ass handed to him, and he was _terrified_.

"You. Do. _Not._ Speak. To us. Like. That." Steven Harrington Sr. uttered through clenched teeth, each word sounding like it's own deadly sentence. "Am I understood?"

Steve merely clenched his jaw and glared back at his father in silence.

"Do you understand?" He reiterated, voice getting louder with each word.

"Yes. Sir." Steve gave in.

Mr. Harrington stalked over to Steve, like a lion approaching it's prey. He roughly grabbed Steve's upper arms, squeezing so tight that the skin turned white and pink around the large hands grasping it. The two males scowled at each other, before the older wrenched his right arm back, and brought it forward, punching his son in the face. Steve's head whipped to the side, and he staggered, but didn't fall due to the steady hand still attached to his right arm. Mr. Harrington delivered another three blows to Steve's face, causing his lip to split, his nose to start gushing blood, and his cheek to flare up in intense pain. Tears welled up in Steve's eyes.

Mr. Harrington then grabbed Steve's left wrist, with the hand he'd just bashed his face in with, and presses his thumb against the knobby bone on the top, before squeezing and turning the rest of his wrist. He throws Steve to the ground, where a resounding crack resonates from said wrist, and Steve cries out in pain. But the abuse didn't end there. The older Harrington man began kicking his son's abdomen, and Steve tried to cover his midsection with his good arm, which was unsuccessful. As suddenly as the kicks started, they stopped.

"Get up." Ordered Mr. Harrington.

Steve just coughed sporadically, tears streaming down his bloodied face, and he wrapped his arms around himself. His father grabbed him again by the upper arms, and Steve's flailing legs were burned from the friction between his skin and the linoleum. Eventually he was shakily standing in front of his father.

"You do not disrespect your parents like that Steven. You're nothing but a disappointment. You have no reason to be so smug, or to sound as if you own this place. You live here because your mother and I work hard, and are nice enough to allow you to stay here. Now, hopefully you've learned your lesson; and you'll understand the importance of respecting us. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir." Steve wheezed out, chest spasming painfully.

"Good." With that, Mr. Harrington slammed Steve's head onto the kitchen table, and he sank to the ground, unconscious. The action caused the wine glasses to spill, and roll to the floor, shattering on impact. Mrs. Harrington frowned at the liquid pooling at her feet, showing more emotion about the shattered glasses than of her son getting beaten by her husband. The two then headed to the master bedroom, for some quality alone time, unbeknownst to them, that their neighbor had called the cops after hearing shouting and sounds of a struggle.

"Hopper!" Flo called, holding the phone to her shoulder, muffling her shout from the caller.

"Yeah?" He called back from inside his office.

"We got a noise complaint from a neighbor about the Harrington residence. Says it sounds like a fight." She explained.

Hopper froze, his immediate thought was, _not that Billy kid all over again_, before remembering that Billy was dead.

"Alright I'll check it out. Callaghan, Powell, stay at the ready for backup."

He jumped into his truck, turning on the lights and sirens, speeding down the roads of Hawkins, anxiety gripping his chest. A couple blocks away from the house, he flicks off the sirens and lights, as to not alert the people inside of his presence. He parks diagonal to the curb, and hops out, hand on his gun. Hopper crept towards the front door, and looked in the window. Not seeing any movement, and noticing for the first time that he doesn't hear anything, he bangs on the door.

"Hawkins Police! Open up!"

He waits, before trying again. Upon not receiving any acknowledgement of his presence, he tries the doorknob, hoping he wouldn't have to resort to kicking in the door. It wasn't as easy as the movies make it look. Luckily for him, it was unlocked. He cautiously stepped in, clearing the room, before advancing further into the house. The living room was also clear, but his heart sank in his chest once he arrived in the kitchen. A body lay prostrate by the table, glittering glass on the floor. Wine stains merged with blood splatter over the linoleum. He hurried over to the figure, and was disheartened when he carefully turned it over, supporting the back and neck, and the face of the teenager was revealed to him.

"Steve." He breathed.

Hopper quickly assessed the damage done to the boy. He requests an ambulance, his quiet voice barely registering through the speaker on his shoulder. Confident that Steve wasn't fatally wounded, he continued to survey the house. He noticed the empty bottle of wine on the counter, and the way that two chairs were pushed away from the table. He could be dealing with one or two assailants, depending on who was positioned where. He cleared the rest of the first floor, before climbing the stairs to the second. Each room was meticulously clean, other than one that obviously belonged to Steve. At the very end of the hall, was a closed door, and Hopper quietly opened it, preparing for a blitz attack from the other side… but it never came.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington were in a drunken slumber, in various degrees of undress. Both were (thankfully) covering their private areas. Hopper loudly cleared his throat, and the two jumped in surprise at the rude awakening. Mrs. Harrington clutched the blanket to her chest, covering her bra clad upper body. Mr. Harrington just scowled at the police chief.

"What are you doing in my house?" He snapped.

"Arresting you. Now put some damn clothes on, both of you." Retorted Hopper.

"Excuse me?" Screeched Mrs. Harrington.

"You heard me. Clothes. On. You're under arrest."

The Harringtons uncomfortably dressed under Hopper's careful watch. He couldn't allow them any privacy, as they could either try to escape, or attempt to attack him. He cuffed both of them, and lead them to his truck, just as an ambulance and backup arrived. He grinned, knowing that Powell and Callaghan came because they were concerned. He handed off his arrestees to the two officers, and took the paramedics to Steve, who still remained unconscious.

The two EMT's placed Steve on the stretcher they'd brought in with them, and strapped him down, before rolling him toward the ambulance. As they lifted him into the back, and started taking his vitals and putting pressure on his bleeding wounds, Hopper informed his officers that he'd be following the ambulance to the hospital, and that they should keep the Harringtons in holding until he returned.

Hopper walked towards his truck, throwing concerned glances at the ambulance. Before the door closed, he heard the paramedics throwing around medical jargon that sounded familiar, but he couldn't for the life of him begin to comprehend. Sighing, he heaved himself into the truck, taking a moment to rest his head against the steering wheel, allowing the events of the day to catch up to him. He felt bad that he couldn't have stayed with Steve in the house, and Hopper regretted not taking backup with him initially. But this case was personal. It was Steve. His daughter's friend and occasional babysitter. A member of the "Scoop Troop". Someone who shared the knowledge and horrors of the Upside Down.

Steeling himself, Hopper peeled out of his parking spot, trailing the ambulance, and abandoning the other police officers, along with those responsible for Steve's injuries. The implication of what happened made Hop feel sick to his stomach. The Harrington parents were sick to abuse their son. He vaguely wondered if this was the first time they had, or if Steve had been subject to mistreatment all these years.

Upon arrival at the hospital, Hopper haphazardly parked near the doors, but far enough away that he wasn't blocking them. He rushed to the ambulance bay, and followed Steve and the paramedics, hearing them shout out stats and a short list of injuries as the teen was wheeled into the ER.

"Trauma room three." Directed a triage nurse.

The two paramedics followed the command, as Hopper explained that the kid's parents were responsible for this, and that he had to be in there with Steve. The nurse agreed, since it was a trauma room, and instructed Hopper to stay out of the doctor's way, and to fill out the forms. He slumped down into a hard plastic chair in the corner, keeping an eye on the gaggle of medical personnel. Hopper knew most of the answers to the questions on the papers, as he had forced Steve (as well as the others) to give him emergency information in the event that one of them got seriously injured. In case something like _this_ happened.

"How'd he get injured?" A doctor asked, looking at Hopper.

"His parents beat him." Replied Hop, voice grave.

"Well they did a number on him, but it's nothing fatal."

"What are his injuries?" Hopper inquired, gruffly.

Since Hopper was the arresting officer, and Steve's parents were responsible for the injuries, the doctor was able to give up the information, and Hopper _was _in the room already.

"He's got a split lip we've stitched up, alongside a cut on his cheek. His nose isn't broken. Lots of bruises. We still need an x-ray of his chest and arm, and an MRI for his head. I'll have you wait out in the waiting room for those."

"How long will the tests take?"

"I'd say about an hour and a half in total."

"Can I leave somebody a number? I've gotta interrogate his parents, but I'd like an update on his condition as soon as possible." Hopper replied.

"Sure."

Down at the station, there was chaos. The Harringtons were yelling obscenities and threats through the metal bars, and officers scrambled about the station. Hopper growled.

"Shut up!" The chief yelled, alerting everyone of his presence.

The bustle of the station stopped, and everything went quiet.

"You," Hop pointed at Powell, "Bring Mr. Harrington to the interrogation room."

The two men sat across from one another, in a tense silence.

"Why'd you do it?" Hopper asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Little shit needs to learn some respect." Spat Mr. Harrington.

"Is that a confession?" Hopper questioned, tiredly.

"Fuck. Take it however you like. I'm rich. You can't touch me." An air of arrogance laced Mr. Harrington's reply.

"Did you, or did you not beat your son today?"

"Little bitch deserved it," He retorted, "cried like the pussy he is."

"Yes. Or. No." Hopper gritted his teeth. "Did you beat your son?"

"Yeah. I did. 'Cause he deserved it."

Hopper threw the man back into holding, before interrogating Mrs. Harrington, who admitted to watching her husband hurt her son.

"But you didn't lay a hand on Steve?" Hopper clarified.

"Nah. Not really my thing. I prefer not to touch… him." She replied, saying the word "him" as if it was something dirty.

As he finished up getting their statements, the phone rang.

"Chief, it's for you." Flo informed him.

It was the hospital. Steve had some fractured ribs, but no brain or skull damage. His wrist was broken. Steve was also now awake, and afraid.

Hopper immediately headed to the hospital. He found Steve in a room, further back in the ER. The doctor was just finishing up Steve's cast as Hop walked in. Steve refused to meet his eye, suddenly finding the sheets on the bed _very_ interesting.

"Hey kid. How you holding up?"

"Fine."

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

"Nothing." Steve shrugged.

"Doesn't look like nothing." Hopper pressed.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Look, I'm not gonna force you right now, but you do need to talk eventually."

Steve didn't reply. Hopper sighed and looked at the doctor.

"He's got a concussion, so he'll have to take it easy for a while. I've prescribed painkillers for Steven, and I've instructed him to periodically ice his face and chest. He'll need to take deep breaths regularly, to prevent fluid build up in his lungs, since they're wrapped."

"Good to know." Hopper replied.

Steve was released, and because he was seventeen, legally old enough to live on his own, he didn't have to be directly released into someone's care, however, it was recommended.

"C'mon kid. You're comin' with me."

Steve didn't put up a fight, and was silent the entire ride back to the cabin. He glared out the window, tension filling the truck.

The two trekked through the woods, and Hopper knocked on the door. He wished he had given El some warning about Steve, but it was a little late for that. She unlocked the door.

"He's hurt." She stated.

"Yeah kiddo. He is." Hopper responded.

Steve curled up in the armchair, refusing to make conversation. The entire evening, he didn't move, didn't speak, didn't eat. It was unnerving. Usually, the dude practically vibrated with energy, never shut up, and could eat so much it was as if his stomach was a black hole. It put El and Hopper on edge. Hop eventually dug out an air mattress for Steve. He threw some old sweatpants and T-shirt at the teen, figuring it was better than his work uniform.

Steve spent the night in a fitful slumber. Hopper kept waking up, and each time he'd walk out into the living room, checking that the kid was still breathing. He then checked in on El, who was calm throughout the night.

The next day, Hopper had a breakthrough with Steve. He'd managed to convince him to make a statement. They went down to the station, and Hop never left Steve's side.

It was revealed that his parents had abused him since he was a kid, but he never went to the hospital, and it was usually not this bad. He explained that since he was eight, his parents would leave him a wad of cash, and disappear for weeks at a time, only staying home for a few days, before setting off for somewhere better. It was decided that until the trial date, Steve would bounce between Hopper's house, the Byers, and the Hendersons.

All of the kids—Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan—were informed of the incident. As were Joyce and Dustin's mom. They eventually fell into a new normal. Steve spent three days with Hopper, two with the Byers, and three with the Hendersons. He'd cycle through them, and often times accompanied the kids to their nerd games. Slowly but surely, the old Steve came back. As he healed, he resumed his babysitting duties, as well as went back to work.

Everyone tended to dance around the subject of Steve's parents, the abuse, and the trial. He didn't mind though. The less he thought about it, the better.

He managed to make it through the trial, and his parents were convicted. After months of bouncing between houses, him and Robin rented a tiny two bedroom apartment together. The only rule between them was that neither one of them could bring a girl home. Steve still dealt with nightmares, and bouts of insomnia. He flinched if he was yelled at, and nearly had a panic attack if he heard shattering glass.

But he was getting better. He was turning his life around, getting his shit together. He was healing.


End file.
